


A little bit of touch

by TheFierceBeast



Series: City on Fire [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blue Balls, Body Worship, Caring Harvey, Comfort, Fluff, Gordlock - Freeform, Gotham is for lovers, Insomnia, Longing, M/M, Massage, Pining, Protective Harvey, Season/Series 05, Sexual Fantasy, Stubborn Jim, Touch-Starved, Touching, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, tired jim gordon, you're an animal Bullock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 21:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: Follows on from the last one I wrote. Set post S05E02. Vague spoilers for S5.Jim isn't sleeping. Harvey finds a way to coax him into some rest. It's totally platonic. Totally... platonic... buddies... yep...





	A little bit of touch

Harvey finds him, unsurprisingly, at his desk, but only after he's asked around practically the whole of Haven looking for him. He slides into the seat opposite and Jim raises his head from the document he's poring over and gives him a weary nod.

"You look like hammered crap."

Jim rolls his eyes. "I had to skip my spa treatment this week."

"Cute." It really is, but Harvey's patience with Jim's stubbornly limitless giving is wearing very thin. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm sleeping."

He takes in the dark circles under those defiantly bright blue eyes. The dullness of his skin. "At your desk doesn't count."

"In case you hadn't noticed, we have a shortage of beds."

"I'd noticed, smart ass." They've 250 apartments now, but between nearly 500 refugees, plus the remaining police, it still isn't enough. "You also know we got rooms allocated to the force. You, me and Lucius. We can sleep in shifts, or top and tail; it'll be like college." He smiles, appealingly.

"I'm fine." He says it through gritted teeth, and it's hard not to take that personally, but Harvey knows him well enough now to know what gets him stressed, and how that manifests. Namely, self-destruction.

"You keep sayin' that. Come on. You know by now I ain't gonna give up."

A sigh. Jim puts down his pen and rubs a palm across his eyes. "If you dedicated as much effort to your job as you do to nurse-maiding me, the city would be secure by now." Harvey could take offence at the words, but there's no real malice behind them, just that usual Gordon pissiness. He folds his arms. Cocks his head, regarding Jim critically.

"Hardy ha. Nurse-maiding you _is_ my job. I told you already: fat lot of good it's gonna do your huddled masses if their saviour's fit to pass out from sleep deprivation."

"You're being overdramatic." Jim snips. OK- self destruction, and taking it out on the one fool he knows won't turn and walk away.

"Am I? C'mon, Jim. I asked you already if you been getting enough sleep. You can't do this alone. Just an hour. They can spare you for an hour."

"Or you'll hold me down?"

Harvey's breath catches. That's... unexpected. He clears his throat. "You still harping on that one?"

Jim's tone is suddenly light, but he's watching Harvey very closely. "Well it's not every day I get threatened with being force fed a Twinkie."

"Nah. You're usually getting threatened with a bellyfull of lead."

"Touché." Jim glances at his watch. His jaw bunches like he's stifling a yawn. He nods. "OK. An hour." It sounds reluctant, but at least he's standing up, reaching for his jacket. "You can make yourself useful and help me carry that, though." He indicates a pile of folded laundry on one of the cabinets. 

"Your wish is my command, Cap." Harvey tips him a sarcastic little salute.  
  


The rooms in Haven are actually pretty swanky. Nicer than Harvey's apartment, even if they're overcrowded, and under furnished in that weird, impersonal way new builds have. Harvey drops Jim's clean shirts he'd been keeping at the precinct - well, that explains a few things at least - on the tasteful beige couch and exhales a low whistle. "Whoo. It's nice. Swish."

"Yes. We've been lucky." He's still hovering in the doorway, back poker straight and shoulders rigid. 

Harvey shakes his head, fondness and exasperation warring. "So. Get your ass on that bed." Jesus, why does stuff always come out like that when he's around James Gordon? But Jim looks too wiped to notice, or at least to care. He drops heavily onto a corner of the mattress, tense. And Harvey shifts, a little uncomfortably, at the prospect of his suddenly obedient compliance, even given the circumstances. He eyes Jim warily. "If I give you some space and leave you to it, you promise you ain't gonna run straight back out there? Or, I dunno, magic some progress reports outta thin air to work on or somethin'?"

Jim doesn't reply for a moment. Just looks up at him, all big blue eyes, with the sorriest hangdog expression Harvey's ever seen. Coming from a guy who used to frequent the kind of bars he did, that's kind of a terrifying thought. "Promise me?" He repeats, as if that'd set it in stone. "And then I'll get outta your hair."

Jim exhales. It sounds shaky. Uneven. "Harvey..."

"What's wrong?" Harvey chances it, sitting on the bed next to him, trying to catch his gaze. "I see it in your eyes, but you always just clam up."

A nod. Jim's lips pressed into a thin, grim line still tremble a little. "I haven't been refusing to sleep. I haven't been able to."

He says it like it’s just another failure in a long catalogue. Harvey’s chest squeezes. "Well, Amen to that, brother. The vibe ain't exactly been relaxing of late. You gotta rest, though."

"I'll try."

"Atta boy." He pats one stiff shoulder companiably. But when he goes to stand, he feels Jim's hand settle on top of his, and his belly somersaults. 

The pause lingers a beat too long for comfort. Harvey's skin prickles, electric at just the touch of Jim's hand on his. But Jim doesn't say anything. His eyes are big and unnervingly pleading, like he can't quite formulate the words and, fuck, Harvey thinks, I want to kiss you so badly right about now. He wets his lips. "Jim? You really OK, buddy?"

"Yeah. Yes." He moves his hand, and without thinking, Harvey reaches for it again.

"Your hands are cold."

A dismissive nod. "At least we have heating now."

"Yeah. And mood lighting." Harvey forces a laugh, nodding at the candles dotted around, too early in the day to be lit.

"We should have electricity up and running soon. Lucius is working on it."

He hasn't pulled his hand away, from where Harvey is chafing warmth into it, between his own. His hands are bigger than Jim's. He's not really noticed that before. He swallows, tight.

"Come on. Get into bed, it'll warm you up."

The look Jim shoots him is almost apologetic. "I doubt that I'll sleep." But he's complying again, anyway. Slipping off his jacket and his shoes. Unbuttoning his shirt. Harvey looks away, less polite than self-conscious, until Jim is dressed only in shorts and singlet and socks, pulling the blankets back. He really does look beat. It makes Harvey's heart ache for him. Whatever mistakes he's made, whatever mistakes he's still making - keeping fragile hope alive with promises he can't really afford - nobody can argue the guy's giving it his best shot. "You want a back rub?" It's out before Harvey can censor himself. He always did have a problem with his brain to mouth filter.

Jim gives a little laugh, sounds more tired than stunned. "What?"

"A back rub. Might help send you off."

Suddenly, it's less weird than he would ever have feared. Really, it's the end of their world in Gotham: nothing is surprising any more. Jim just nods, simple and easy, and says, "Thanks, Harv. It's got to be worth a try."

 

If Harvey's hands shake, he can pass it off as hunger and exhaustion. "Hey. Take this off." He plucks at Jim's singlet and Jim just goes with it again, docile and pliant, sitting up to pull it off, before he settles back, face down, his head pillowed on folded arms. And this hollowness, this ache, has spread through Harvey's whole body - as much in his chest as in his pants. A full-force longing, like every atom of him is reaching out to the man laid out beneath him. "Hang on a sec." Jim doesn't stir as Harvey goes to close the drapes, to light a couple candles. It's a good idea. The dim yellow glow is cosy, soothing. Jim's breathing already sounds deeper, before Harvey's even touched him. Oh, god, he wants to touch him. "Now, don't judge me." He keeps his voice low. Jim makes some kind of noise in response, a murmur that might be amusement. "I'm usually a real pro at this. But it's not gonna be as good without any oil." 

"I'm sure it'll be fine." He sounds barely awake, his voice soft.

Harvey swallows against the sudden dryness of his mouth again. His tongue feels ten sizes too big. He's glad Jim's face-planted and drooling into the pillows so he can't see the sudden shyness that's overcome him when faced with actually touching.

He's almost naked. Just those white shorts and black dress socks that somehow look brand new. His skin is golden in the candlelight, smooth and unblemished. Harvey's always admired him, even before he realised he'd fallen for him like a goddamn Acme anvil. His sleek, lightly muscled build. The lines of his biceps and the trimness of his waist. 

Tentatively, he places a hand there, at the lower curve of ribs, and Jim hums out a long breath. God, his skin's like silk... _Pull yourself together, Bullock_. He's cold though, still, as if he's chilled through, or coming down with something. That's what pushes Harvey to get on with it. To warm him up, because God knows he's feeling hot under the collar right now. 

He starts at his shoulders, kneading the biggest, stubbornest knots with sure hands, and Jim groans, like he can't help it, like it's pure relief, and the noise goes straight to Harvey's dick. He's not loud. Not pornographic, exactly, but every little huff of satisfaction is music to Harvey's ears. To know he's giving Jim pleasure... Damn, he wishes he had some oil. He ain't even out of practice, but the drag is more than he'd like, he's too aware of how rough his hands probably are. "Sorry it ain't the best. Like I said. We're makin' do."

"It feels amazing."

Heat rises in Harvey's cheeks at that. At the casual warmth of Jim's tone as much as the compliment.

"Well, like I said..." He sweeps his palms, firm, up Jim's lats, and the quiet hum he gets in return has him biting his lip in helpless arousal. "I'm kinda a big deal at this."

"Now I get why you're so popular." It's joking, more breath and breathless laugh than words, but it's still Jim saying it. Praising him. And hell, if Harvey wouldn't work just for James Gordon's praise alone. It's taken him a while to realise he's a complete slut for it. That he'd do anything... He digs his thumbs into hard muscle, circling firmly over the trigger points either side of Jim's spine and Jim outright moans, loud and luxurious and Harvey's dick twitches, aching for him. Yeah, he's a slut for Jim Gordon. If only he could be literally. Jim barking orders at him in the bedroom as sure and easy and masterful as he does in the precinct. Telling him to do his duty. That he's a good boy... Harvey clears his throat, certain that just that one little noise is giving him away.

Of course it isn't, though. The thought isn't even crossing Jim's mind. How could it? He drags his thumbs down Jim's spine. Notes, desperately, the way Jim's ass raises, just a little in reflex. Fuck, if he was naked... _Don't even think it, man._ But that seed was sown the second Jim loosened his tie. His hands stray, over Jim's hips, ruffling crisp white cotton, feeling the hidden slant of elegant hipbones. Those damn shorts, they're driving him crazy. So pristine, like some first-time-gay-and-loving-it porno fantasy come to life. He wishes he could think of the words to ask Jim to take ‘em off. Wishes he had the guts to just do it, to ease them down over the curve of his ass. To turn him over, bare his dick. Is he hard? Right now, pressing against the mattress? Harvey always gets a boner when he has a massage, even if it's an ugly dude doing it, but maybe that's just him. Does Jim though? Lord, he'd like to find out. Touch him. Get him off. Have Jim panting and worked up, ordering him _more, faster, suck me_. And, great, now Harvey's straining uncomfortably in his slacks, the need to touch himself becoming almost unbearable. It'll just have to be sorted out quick and perfunctory again in the restroom when they're done, cos Heaven knows that there's no quality me-time in the apocalypse. Harvey sighs. Jim looks so peaceful right now, just in this moment,  that he can't begrudge it. Relaxed, sleepy and loose-limbed, the skin of his back so smooth and perfect... At least now Harvey's got some nice visuals in the bank to accompany him to the john later... _Jeez, you're a creep_. He shakes the thought off: you'd have to be a canonised Saint not to appreciate this view. Thumbs kneading, dipping just beneath the waistband of Jim's shorts, pressing into those dimples in his lower back that Harvey just aches to brush his lips against. And he's losing himself to this. The glide of skin across sleek skin, warming now to his adoring touch, and surely Jim can sense this, how gone Harvey is on him, surely? The elusive scent of him, if Harvey leans in just a little more: ration soap and the metallic edge of his sweat; clean and brisk, just like Jim himself...

"You can stop, you know."

Harvey's hands falter. Hover. "You want me to?"

"I can't expect you to do this all night."

_I would, though_. Harvey exhales, slow. "It helped any?"

"Mmmm." Jeez, he's so _soft_ right now. Harvey's never seen it before, not sober. "I don't know if I'll sleep, though."

Harvey can't help the little chuckle that escapes him. Stubborn to the last. "Trust me: learn from the master, I'm really great at sleeping. OK." Reluctantly, he stands up, stretches his arms. "I'll let you at least try for some shut-eye."

"Harvey..."

"What's up?" He thinks, in that moment, that Jim might thank him. Might say something that he can squirrel away in his heart and keep bright and warm and glowing in there. 

"...stay?"

"Um." Suddenly he's not even sure if Jim's still awake. If _he_ is, for that matter, cos that's a line straight from his dreams. "Sure." He sits back down, carefully, on the edge of the bed. Tries not to disturb him. Jim's well away, breathing steady and soft, the long sweep of his lashes resting against his cheeks. Even if he did say that in his sleep, doesn't that mean it's his, like, subconscious talking? Saying what he really wants, deep down? Gingerly, Harvey lifts his feet onto the bed, lying down, awkward and alert, next to Jim, careful not to disturb him. Well, that's one of them who's definitely getting no sleep tonight, but Harvey can't regret a thing, not while he's gazing at that sleeping face by candlelight. It's just like taking turns at lookout, really. Keeping watch. It's his job. Watching over Jim. Guarding him. Keeping him safe from harm. Harvey shifts, carefully, resting his cheek on his palm, and settles in for the night.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's following my self indulgent ramblings. I had a few of these drafted out but Ep 3 changed things a lot and now Ep 4 has totally put a spanner in my works. I'll probably still continue though but it might be canon divergent.  
> Love to everyone who reads, especially the commenters. You brighten my days x


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